Nobody ever knows the why.

I was in philosophy class when I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket (slightly fitting for this story). I took a glance and saw it was close friend from the Marine Corps. With about 30 minutes of class left I let the call go to voicemail and texted a quick, “call you in 30”. He texted back, “Call me. Now. Make sure you’re sitting down.” My eyes zoomed in on my phone as the voices around me shifted and became nothing more than a dull roar.
A list of names rattled off in my head like final roll call, waiting for the non reply. The mouth sweats settled in as I tried my best keep cool approaching the front of the classroom. I struggled to open the door with my shaking hands.
The phone call was quick and blunt.
Friend: He’s dead.
Me: When?
Friend: Last night.
Me: I’ll call you later man.
I sat in that empty hallway feeling a deep cold sadness roll over my shoulders and grab me. I pulled my hat down over my face, using my hands to cover the rest. “Pull it together”, I thought to myself. “Bury it. Dig it up later.” I opened that door and the classroom all turned and looked at me. Their eyes connected with my red watery ones. I grabbed my backpack and left.
I drove home, opened up the freezer, and took the wrapper off the fifth of whiskey I had in there. I brought that and a glass to my room. Closed and locked the door, sat down at my desk and began to drink with my phone as my only company plugged into the charger.
For the rest of that day and well into the early morning I drank that whole whiskey bottle while talking with my boys from the Corps. We were all trying to figure out the same shit. Who. What. Where. When. How. Why? Nobody ever knows the why.
The why is a two part question. The first part is regarding the deceased. Why did he kill himself? My friends and I have gone down this beaten to death path more times than we would like remember. In those first 3 years after getting out the corps that path was walked down several times each year. The conclusion was usually the same.
The second part is for the living. Who’s next? I didn’t think that the first time I went down this path. Nor the second. But I guess the third time was the charm and opened my mind up a bit more. Throw copious amounts whiskey and it’s like seeing a new door in your room for the first time.
Suicide can seem like a disease when it’s a trend amongst your friends. Especially when those friends have the same stories and experiences as you. We’ve shared the same firefights and IED blasts. We’ve walked through the same poppy fields and slept in the same fighting holes. But they chose to end it and you’re still here. If he did it then who is next?
I’ll never know the why but I can understand it. And that’s good enough for me. I think those sleepless hours any combat vet has had staring into the darkness of his room slightly drunk and alone with whatever demons they’ve built along the way starring back can understand it. In those dark corners you necessarily can’t see the eyes looking back at you. But you sure as fuck can feel them.
It’s been a full year now where someone from my unit hasn’t committed suicide. That’s a sad achievement that I did not think I’d be celebrating after rejoining society. It’s a reality many guys and gals have faced.
For my own sanity writing (my attempt at writing) as helped me out quite a bit. I figured I could share these “attempts” and maybe help out some people struggling with those dark corners.
Di Bo Chet.
